


Softly, Tread

by twobirdsonesong



Category: CrissColfer - Fandom, Glee RPF
Genre: Drabble, Dreams, Dreams vs. Reality, Established Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, Mornings, Romance, crisscolfer, well that took a turn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-03 01:14:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1725767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twobirdsonesong/pseuds/twobirdsonesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are dreams, and then there are dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Softly, Tread

Darren wakes up to the sound of mud-splattered taxis blaring at each other for bare inches of lane space and construction workers renovating the next building down the block.  He breathes in the sharp smell of last night’s rain and stretches across the rumpled sheets. They must have left the window open again, to let in the cooler late night air.

 

He hears the toilet in the attached bathroom flush and then the water in the sink run. Darren curls and uncurls his toes as he rubs his cheek across the skin-warm pillow and thinks about going right back to sleep.  But the bathroom door opens and Darren turns towards it.

 

Chris pads back into the bedroom, dressed in jeans and one of Darren’s old t-shirts. He’s already wearing his shoes, his wallet is in his pocket, and he looks like he’s ready to head off to work. Chris has had fairly early call times all week for the movie he’s filming, sometimes rising before dawn, but Darren doesn’t mind waking to see him off in the mornings.  Especially with how busy they’ve both been lately.

 

“Hey, you’re up.” Chris sits down on the edge of the bed and runs his fingers through Darren’s messy hair before stroking across his bare shoulder.

 

Darren shifts into the touch, curling towards Chris and bumping his knees against Chris’ hip.  “Sort of.”

 

“You have rehearsals today, yeah?” Chris asks.  His eyes are soft in the grey morning light and his hair is still a little damp at the ends.

 

“Mhmm, and I think I’m going to pop into the studio for a couple of hours afterwards.” Darren’s a month into rehearsals for his new show on Broadway, but he’s still trying to get another album made, with what spare time he has.

  
“So I won’t see you until late tonight?” Chris draws his thumb down Darren’s stubbled jaw, rubbing gently at his chin.

 

“Save me some dinner?”

 

Chris smirks.  “Maybe.” He leans down and Darren tilts his face up for the soft kiss that brushes across his lips, his eyes drifting shut.

 

Darren wakes up.

 

The sun is shining bright and hopeful and the scent of ocean and tropical flowers is on the air.

  
Chris is warm next to him, naked on top of the sheets as the saltwater air washes over both of them.  Darren has no idea what time it is, but he knows it’s long past morning.

 

Not far from their doorstep, waves crash and he smiles.  Chris’ fingers find his and Darren closes his eyes.

 

Darren wakes up.

 

There’s a dog barking outside.  It’s what pulls him from sleep.  A low steady barking from a puppy that’s been leashed up to a bench while its owner waits inside the café for breakfast.

 

Darren groans, burrowing deeper under the covers.  “Why did we choose to live near that bakery?” He grumbles while the dog continues to bark at nothing.

 

“Because,” Chris responds next to him, voice light and soft, faintly amused beneath the layers of sleep.  “You liked the smell of bread and coffee in the morning.”

 

Their flat on this usually quiet, green little avenue in London is next to a popular bakery that boasts an impressive line every weekend.  It’s normally not a problem – the sounds of life in a city have never bothered Darren – but sometimes the laugher and chatter of the patrons catches on the winds and drifts up through their windows a little too early.  And sometimes there’s a dog that doesn’t want to be left alone outside.

 

“So this is my fault?” Darren rolls over, trapping Chris underneath him.

 

“Isn’t everything?” Chris shifts, making space for Darren’s body between his thighs.

 

It’s a good location – their flat – nestled into a little pocket of quiet and seclusion amidst the constant buzz of London.  Chris can get to his office in 15 minutes and Darren can get to his current theatre in the West End quick enough for his liking.

 

They’d spent two weeks trying to find place in the city and or just outside of it. They’d rejected a dozen flats and homes for being too big or too close to tourist traps or just not quite right for them.  Sometimes Darren still forgets that money really isn’t a problem and that if they want to spend a little more for a decidedly upscale neighborhood then they can do just that. Besides, they don’t need a lot of space.  It’s just the two of them and the cat and the dog, and those two tend to stick together anyway.

 

And then they’d stumbled upon this place, with its big bay windows and bizarre floor plan that came with reading nooks and built in bookshelves.  It was perfect.  And the fact that it was so close to the bakery that the scent of roasting coffee and fresh-baked bread wafted through the windows on the breeze didn’t hurt at all.  They’d signed for the place that afternoon.

 

The occasional barking dogs came later.

 

Darren grins and nuzzles into the soft curve of Chris’ throat.  “Whatever, you love it here.”

 

Chris has an office of his own to write in, when he’s not in his production office, and Darren has a little baby studio of his own on the other side of the apartment. And the London skyline is visible from the living room.  It’s perfect.

  
Chris’ arms wind around Darren’s neck, skin sleep-warm and soft, and Darren presses kisses up his neck to his waiting mouth.  He sighs into it.  This is happiness.

 

Darren wakes up.

 

Next to him the bed is empty and the house is quiet.  There is no one making breakfast in the kitchen and no soft scratch of clawed paws on the hardwood.  Outside, a lone car drives down the street and Darren doesn’t have anything to do today.

 

He throws the covers back and gets up.  The floor is cold beneath his bare feet and he does not look to see if the sun shining.

 

It’s just another day.


End file.
